Page 44 of Little Pieces of Light

Xander

Emery seemed aglow with happiness as she studied my living room, her eyes dancing as she envisioned decorations.

The winter break from school had begun, her calculus final had gone well, and she was free from math forever.

Strangely, her father hadn’t insisted on her taking yet another class.

Her application to Brown was still pending; I assumed he thought they had enough information to decide to accept her or not.

Watching her standing in my house, making sketches and notes, I harbored a secret, selfish desire that she get into Brown, even if she hated it, because at least then she’d stay. The idea of us going to separate ends of the country chilled me to my bones, fueled by my mother’s parting words.

It won’t be forever.

But what if it was?

Emery bounded up to me, breaking me from my thoughts by throwing her arms around my neck. “I’m off. Harper is meeting me in town, then we’ll be back to get to work.”

I pulled her in close. She wore a pale green sweater today and little earrings in the shape of Christmas bows. “I’ll pick up the books and take my dad out for supplies for tomorrow’s party. How long will you need?”

“A good four or five hours at least. Maybe you could see a movie, too?” She laughed at my sour face. “I know you hate that, but I need the time.”

I kissed her nose. “Whatever you need. Speaking of…”

From my wallet, I pulled out three one-hundred-dollar bills. Now it was her turn to make a sour face.

“I hate that I can’t contribute,” she said. “My family is sitting on a pile of gold and hardly shares a single bit unless there’s a tax break in there somewhere.”

“You’re contributing your artistry,” I told her. “That’s worth a pile of gold itself.”

She beamed and pocketed the money. “I hope this is the tutoring money my dad put in my account. There’s some poetic justice in him footing the bill for something he hates.”

I smiled but didn’t confirm or deny. I hadn’t touched that money—more than six hundred dollars—but kept it in my account. I wasn’t sure what it was for, but it didn’t feel right to spend it, so I left it alone.

I kissed Emery a final time and then she was gone, off to make a beautiful Christmas and bring it back to my dad. I moved the stacks of books, vacuumed, and dusted until the living room was moderately presentable. Shabby, but clean.

“Dad, you ready to go?” I called, wrapping a scarf around my neck and pulling on my coat. No answer. I leaned into the hallway off the kitchen and called toward his room. “Dad?”

He came downstairs wearing a shirt and sweater over his pajama bottoms and slippers. “Eh, Xander?” he blinked at me, his hair askew. “I feel as though I’m missing something. We were to go somewhere?”

“Yeah, Dad,” I said, swallowing hard. “We’re going shopping for the Christmas party tomorrow, remember? I thought we’d get some lunch while we’re out and see a movie.”

“Ah yes. Lovely, lovely.” He smoothed the front of his sweater with trembling hands. His left, worse than his right. “A party?”

My heart sank. “The Math & Physics Club is coming over tomorrow night. They all want to meet you. And Emery is going to decorate for us while we’re out. We’ll have a real Christmas.”

He blinked and then looked at me funny. “Of course, I know that, Xander. I’ve been looking forward to it all week!” He strode toward me, beaming. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Um, Dad…pants?”

He glanced down and chuckled. “Oh dear, can’t get far like this. Be right back.”

I smiled, my stomach tightening because the internal clock in my heart wouldn’t stop its countdown to when these spells of forgetting would stretch and stretch until they’d erased him completely.

But when he reemerged from his room, he was dressed, his hair relatively smooth, and his eyes sharp. I tried to let that bolster me, but I’d researched Lewy body dementia and knew that periods of stability were often followed by steep declines.

Not yet.

I drove us to Cassidy’s, a little diner downtown popular with Academy students—a fact I remembered just after the waitress took our order.

But before he’d departed for home in London, Orion had told me most Richies left Castle Hill for European tours, African safaris, or long ski trips in places like Aspen or the Alps.

The diner was quiet, and we ate burgers and fries, my dad regaling me about the time his thirteen-year-old son, Alexander, met one of his heroes, Andrea Ghez, when the famed astrophysicist came to the NIST to give a speech.

“It was she who discovered the supermassive black hole, Sagittarius A*, at the center of our very own Milky Way galaxy,” he said proudly. “You should have seen my boy’s face, all lit up, listening to her. He declared right then and there he’d be an astrophysicist too.”

I smiled over the ache in my heart. “Yeah, he did.”

But at the old, single-screen movie theater, Dad recognized me again as we watched It’s a Wonderful Life, a movie about a man on the brink of suicide until he’s shown what life would be like in his small town if he’d never existed.

I glanced at my dad as the silver light of the old black-and-white movie played over his features.

I sent my own prayer to whatever guardian angel might be listening that meeting my friends might do that for him.

Maybe show him some appreciation that would stick when the black hole of dementia sucked the memories out of him.

After the movie, we went grocery shopping for party supplies, food, and drink. In the parking lot, my dad slumped against the passenger seat, exhausted.

“I believe I’m ready for a nap,” he said sleepily.

“Sure thing.” I shot Emery a text. I have to bring him back.

She replied immediately. No problem. All done! Followed by the Christmas tree emoji and the red lipstick emoji.

She’s my angel, I thought as I drove through gentle drifts of snow back to our house at the end of the road.

“Isn’t that beautiful?” Dad said. “The trees and the sunset…what a thing to see.”

The trees surrounding our house were bearded white, and snow carpeted the ground, covered our roof, and piled on our old mailbox. Behind, the sun was setting, lining everything in ribbons of gold.

“Come on,” I said gently, taking his arm. “It’s cold.”

Before we could reach the front door, Emery emerged, her cheeks flushed.

“Emery, my dear!” Dad exclaimed. “What a lovely surprise. What are you doing here?”

She didn’t blink but smiled her brilliant smile. “Hello, Russell. I want to show you something.”

“Well, all right.”

She took his hand and led him inside. I followed and then tried my damndest not to burst into tears like a goddamn baby when I saw what she’d done.

Harper, who was there, straightening and tidying, read my face and nodded at Emery. “It’s all her. I just work here.”

“No, Harper helped a ton,” Emery said, guiding my dad to a seat on the couch.

“Oh, Emery,” my dad said, pulling off his winter hat. “Oh, my sweet girl.”

Our living room was still our living room. I don’t know what I expected—Emery’s talents were such that I wouldn’t have put it past her to make the place seem brand new even with three hundred bucks. But instead of making it unrecognizable, she somehow made it more .

She’d rearranged some of the furniture to take advantage of the space and the light to amplify the cozy hominess I remembered as a kid. As if she’d returned it to a former, happier time when my family—and my father’s mind—were still whole.

A Christmas tree covered in white lights and ornaments glowed from beside the fireplace, where green garlands of fir and pine were strung across the mantel.

The window wore green too, highlighting the rustic bones of the house, while red-and-green plaid cloths were draped over the piano and the coffee table.

Red candles, pinecones, and silver ornaments made a centerpiece on the table.

Over the chimney were two stockings, one red and covered in silver stars, the other green with little atomic symbols.

Which don’t exist at your local store. She made those.

I’d asked her to help me decorate two days ago, and she managed to make those damn stockings. She made all this happen, including the look of pure delight on my dad’s face, and I’d never be able to repay her for that.

“Would you like some eggnog, Russell?” Emery asked.

“My dear, that would be lovely.”

She moved to take the grocery bags out of my hands. “I’m assuming you bought eggnog.”

I nodded faintly. “Emery…”

“It’s nothing,” she said softly. “I’m so, so happy to do it. Really.”

While Harper and my dad got acquainted and Emery and I headed to the kitchen, a sudden thought jumped into my mind. “His equations…”

“I didn’t touch his desk,” Emery said. “I figured he might have a system or something, and I wasn’t about to mess with it.”

A quick glance at Dad’s desk showed the same cyclone of paper as usual. In the kitchen, I set down the bags and took her in my arms. “You’re an angel.”

“It’s really not a big deal—” she began, but I shook my head.

“Did you see his face when we came in?” I swallowed hard. “That was my Christmas present. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“That’s very sweet, Xander.” She kissed me softly, then her smile turned playful. “But you’re still getting a real present.”

She laughed and bounded back into the living room, a ball of pure light and energy because what she’d done for my house was what she was meant to do.

And the only lone shadow of the afternoon was the certainty that she needed to get far away.

To make her dreams come true, and I couldn’t let anyone take that from her.

Not even me.

***

By twilight the following afternoon, with food and drink ready and Christmas carols playing from my phone, which was hooked up to a home device Harper let me borrow, our little party was in full swing.